Valkyria Chronicles: Serenity
by DC20
Summary: Everyone was dead. Everyone except for Varick. God had spared him that day, and God now lay next to him staring down the scope of a ZmSG98k 7.92mm bolt-action rifle. As it turned out, God was a First Lieutenant.


**A/N: **First off, this is a slightly edited re-post of the same story that I had up before. I'd originally written it to help explain a certain event from the game that seemed to happen out of the blue and that I'd seen some people complaining about in other places. However, there were a couple of things I wanted to see about changing – namely the story's reliance on OCs – and I decided to take it down and look to see if there was a way I could tell the same story without having that aspect to it. I ended up kind of skirting the issue – the character of the Oberleutnant is now identified within the story as Malya the Dust, the enemy sniper ace that appeared in chapter 6 of the game. Unfortunately, beyond that I couldn't find a way to tell the same story without the OCs present, as it takes place from the Imperial perspective, and we don't really see Imperial characters that aren't part of Max's leadership throughout canon. Originally I was going to just scrap it for that reason, but I got a few messages asking about it, so I'll put it back up. I do hope it helps to better explain the events detailed, and I hope that explanation brings enough value to the story to somewhat justify the use of the OCs. Spoilers, of course, but if you're reading fanfiction then I assume you already know what happens.

**Valkyria Chronicles: Serenity**

Alaric was dead. Seifer was dead. Liesel, with her wonderful smile and piercing blue eyes, was dead. Even Mendel – his closest comrade and most trusted confidant since their first day in basic training – now lay face down at the bottom of a muddy trench with a hole in the back of his head the size of a walnut. Everyone was dead. Everyone except for Varick. God had spared him that day, and God now lay next to him staring down the scope of a ZmSG98k 7.92mm bolt-action rifle.

God scanned the once Imperial base in front of them, searching for his target. "You see, Varick," he said, "sniping isn't just a matter of putting your crosshair over your mark and pulling the trigger. It's a martial art. You have to know your target. Know his mind, his movements, his thoughts. You have to feel everything he feels; then you have to feel nothing." Pulling away from the scope, God turned his head to face the boy. His expression was empty – almost completely detached from reality. The sniper's blue eyes pierced through Alaric with a force Liesel's could never have matched, and his short blond hair framed the face of a killer. Varick was in awe. Slowly, God's stone lips began to curl up into a slight smile. Within a second, he'd lost the killer's gaze and had broken out in laughter. "Pass me another round, will you?" As it turned out, God was an Oberleutnant.

The day had begun like any other – If any other day was to be Varick's first day in combat. As part of the Imperial Army's 75th Infantry Division, Varick and his Company had been stationed near the Marberry beachhead for the past month. It was an easy assignment. The closest front line was hundreds of miles away. After finishing Combat Infantry School and receiving his assignment, he found himself pulling guard duty and going on public relations missions within the Marberry area. The only shots he'd heard fired in Gallia were during training exercises. With the Imperial Army on the offensive, the war would be over within a month, and he would be content with playing the occupying soldier and attempting to woo some young Gallian lasses. He was alright with that. If he'd done one thing at basic, it was build muscle. At 5'8" he'd been a bit lanky before, but basic had built him into a well built workhorse. With brown eyes and dark hair, picking up the ladies wouldn't be too difficult – Gallian or not. As gung-ho as the rest of his Company was to see some action, he secretly thanked The-God-He'd-Known-Before that he could complete his tour of duty without having to fire a single shot in battle. Unfortunately, The-God-He'd-Known-Before hadn't been listening.

Nobody had expected the invasion. It was a Gallian holiday, and Varick's squad was supposed to be sent on a relations "mission" in a town near the beaches. In reality, it was going to be more like a party. The Militia showed up uninvited. By 1100 they'd broken through the beachhead, and by 1120 Varick found himself in the trenches.

---

_"Reloading! Cover!" The machine gun crew needed to reload. It was the only thing putting enough fire down the field to keep the Militia at bay. Springing up, Alaric brought his ZM Kar 4 to his shoulder and stared down the sights. With the machine gun reloading, the Gallians advanced. They'd been leapfrogging down the field for the past 15 minutes, making slow but steady progress against the defending Imperials. Varick put one of the advancing soldiers into his sight picture and pulled the trigger. The round flew harmlessly past his target's head. His hands were shaking too much to hit a target smaller than a mess hall. Abandoning the sights, he pointed his weapon down the field and squeezed the trigger as fast as he possibly could. By the time he'd emptied his magazine, the recoil of the rifle had him aiming ten feet above the advancing troop's heads. It didn't matter. All he wanted to do was put as much lead down range as possible. "Reloaded, opening fire!"_

_ As Varick dropped back into the trench, a sting of bullets kicked up the dirt on the trench wall behind where he'd just been standing. Shaking the dirt off his helmet, he ejected the empty magazine from his rifle and replaced it with a full magazine from his ammo belt. Next to him, Mendel popped up, fired a volley, and dropped back down. "Not exactly what we were expecting, was it Rick?"_

_ "No. Not exactly." Up again. Aim again. Fire again. Drop again. "You got any grenades?"_

_ "You kidding? Most of the grenades were sent to the front. I think Liesel's the only one who's carrying."_

_ Varick looked down the trench line. A few soldiers away, Liesel stood firing her ZM MP 4. The empty casings glinted as they were ejected from the weapon and fell through the air. "Hey! Liesel!" She couldn't hear him over the bark of the machine gun. "Liesel!" _

_ She'd heard this time. Dropping back below the trench wall, she turned towards Varick. "What?"_

_ "Do you have any grenades?"_

_ "Seifer!"_

_ Seifer had them. "Where is he?"_

_ "He's right…" She stopped as the soldier next to her stumbled backwards in the trench. Three sharp metallic clangs were heard as the bullets ripped through his chest plate. Striking the back of the trench wall, he slid down the side until his body rested in a slump at the bottom. "Yeah, I've got grenades!" Turning away from Varick, she began waving her arm. "Medic!"_

_ Once more Varick stood up and took aim. Before he pulled the trigger a mortar round struck at the feet of his target. In an eruption of dirt, the man – now short a leg – was thrown into the air. Deciding not to waste the ammo, Varick dropped back into safety. "How many you got?"_

_ "Three!"_

_ "Toss us some!" _

_ Keeping one for herself, the woman tossed two grenades down the trench; One for Varick and one for Mendel. Placing the grenade in his ammo belt, Varick took a quick check of the trench. Of the 18 people who had gone in, only 11 were still standing. Their squad leader was dead. His assistant squad leader was wounded. That put Gefreiter Gottlieb in charge. _

_ "Reloading! Cover!" Seizing the opportunity, the Gallians surged forward. They were still too far for the grenades to be useful, but it wouldn't be long before they were within throwing range. Once again, Varick stood up. Before he could raise his weapon, a bullet snap sent him back into cover. He'd be shot if he jumped up again. Lifting his weapon above the trench wall, he fired blindly across the field. Empty again. "Reloaded, opening fire!" _

_ The machine gun began to chew through the new belt of ammunition. The Gallians dropped back down. They weren't killing them fast enough. Within a few more belts, they would be on top of them. Ready to fire, Varick jumped up again. Then it stopped._

_ "Dammit! We're jammed!" The machine gun. "Weapon malf!" Desperately, the machine gun crew began to clear the weapon. Still standing, Varick watched as the Gallians became aware of the situation and pushed forward. Firing round after round, he swept his weapon back and forth across the battlefield. Magazine empty, he dropped back down to reload. Just as he reached his hand down to a fresh magazine in his ammo belt, he heard a cry coming from his left. Turning towards the noise, he watched as Gottlieb fell to the ground, blood streaming from the gap in his armor between the helmet and the chest plate. Dead. Who did that leave in charge? Varick didn't know. Nobody did. At this point, it didn't matter anyway._

_ "Rick!" Mendel was yelling next to him. "I'm empty, you got a spare mag?"_

_ Varick looked at his belt. Other than the fresh one he'd just pulled out, he had only two magazines left. At the rate they were firing, they would be gone soon as well. "Take this one." He handed his friend the magazine he had in his hand. Varick could only use one at a time, and two guns firing were better than one. If they didn't take the enemy down soon though, there wouldn't be anyone left alive to fire at all. Grabbing one of the two magazines left, he tossed his empty magazine aside and slammed the fresh one into the ZM Kar 4. Now or never. Jumping up, he readied his weapon. The Gallians were closer now. He couldn't miss. With the lead Gallian in his sight picture, he began to draw back on his trigger. He never got to take the shot. Before his weapon went off, a Gallian bullet slammed into his pauldron. Stumbling back, Varick fell back into the trench._

_ "Holy Hell Rick, you alright?"_

_ Varick looked down at his shoulder. The pauldron had been ripped apart, but his shoulder was intact. "Yeah Mendel, I'm alright. Bullet grazed my armor, but I'm fine." Only he wasn't. Far from it. Trying to stand up, his legs gave out from under him. They felt like two lead weights. Somehow, they also felt like jelly. An explosion just outside the trench threw dirt and debris over the two soldiers, and Varick dropped his rifle. As he bent over to pick it up, a second explosion went off – This time inside the trench. _

_ Something heavy struck Varick across the helmet. Shaken, it took him a moment to regain his senses and figure out what had happened. Looking down, he saw it lying next to his rifle. One of the machine gunner's arms. Looking over, he saw that they'd taken a direct hit. What was left of the two men lay crippled and broken on the trench floor. The ruptured husk of the machine gun had been thrown outside the trench. They were dead. Varick was sure he was about to join them._

_ Once more, the soldier felt a heavy strike at the back of his helmet. Turning, he saw his friend Mendel had struck him. "Hey! No time. They're in throwing range." Reaching down to his belt, he pulled out his grenade. "Hey Liesel! Grenades!" Peeking over the trench wall, he unscrewed the base cap and prepared to arm the weapon. Sighting a small group of Gallians, he pulled the pull cord. The grenade had a five second fuse. Waiting two, he tossed the weapon at the Gallians' feet and ducked. _

_ "Grenade! Down!" The Gallians were within earshot. "Everyone get…" The explosive went off, and the voice stopped._

_ "Liesel, you're up," Mendel yelled to his comrade. _

_ "Roger, arming!" Following Mendel's steps, the woman readied her grenade. After tugging the pull string, she threw it in the middle of a Gallian fire team. _

_ Once more, the Gallians began to yell. "Grenade!"_

_ "Clear!"_

_ Something struck the ground at Liesel's feet. Looking down, she found herself staring at her own grenade. They'd thrown it back. "Oh fuck." _

_ The explosion took her legs out from under her and sent shrapnel through her lower torso. Right before Varick's eyes, the ever witty, charming, and beautiful Liesel was killed instantly – Or at least she should have been. Instead she lay screaming on the trench floor with mangled legs and an eviscerated chest plate. Varick was frozen as he watched the mud and dirt begin to soak up the expanding pool of blood under his writhing friend's body. He didn't take his eyes off of her until he again felt the heavy swing of Mendel's palm at the back of his helmet. "Varick, pay attention! We've got to get out of here. Now."_

_ Varick looked back at Liesel. "We've got to get her a medic."_

_ "She's smoked, Rick. So's the medic." Looking down the trench, Varick could see that Mendel was right. Only 5 people were still in fighting condition, including them. "We're getting out of here."_

_ "The second we step out of this trench they'll kill us."_

_ "They'll kill us if we stay."_

_ "What if we surrender?"_

_ "They'll kill us then too. You know they will." Over the past few weeks, Varick and his friends had been hearing an increasing number of stories about Imperial troops being killed as they surrendered. It seemed the Gallians weren't too happy about the camps at Fouzen, and they were through taking prisoners. _

_ "Mendel… I don't think I can move." His legs were glued to the ground. He hadn't even picked his rifle back up._

_ "You can, and you're going to follow me out of here." Through Mendel's visor, Varick could see his eyes soften. "Varick, you're my best friend. I won't leave you behind, and I won't let you die here. I promise."_

_ He trusted Mendel now more than he did The-God-He'd-Known-Before. Hitting his friend across the pauldron, he felt the strength return to his legs. "Yeah. Yeah, we've got this."_

"_We're studs, man. They can't touch us."_

_Varick pointed to his shattered pauldron. "Not a Goddamn scratch. Even when they hit me, they can't hurt me."_

"_That's right. We're invincible. We're on top of this."_

"_We've got this."_

"_That's what I want to hear." Mendel faced the back of the trench and prepared himself to go over the top. "Here's the plan. I'm counting to three, and then I'm going. You're counting to five. Don't argue. Once you're out, you run, and you don't stop. For anything. Do you understand?"_

_Varick nodded. "Yeah, I got it."_

"_No you don't. You don't stop. Ever. For anything. Do you understand now?"_

"_I…" Not for anything. "Yes. Yes, I understand now."_

"_Alright. One." Above the trench, the red tracers of the Gallian weapons flew through the air. For every tracer there were probably at least 4 or 5 bullets he couldn't see. _

"_Two." An explosion went off in the distance. Ignore it. _

"_Three!" Placing his hands at the lip of the trench, Mendel began to lift himself up. Before he'd reached his full height, the back of his head exploded into a crimson fountain of brain matter and bone fragments. Falling forward, his face struck the ground outside of the trench before he twirled backwards and fell stomach first onto the ground. Varick's legs were gone again. He hadn't even made it to four._

_Looking back down the trench, he saw that there was nobody left fighting. Liesel had stopped screaming. Weakly rocking her body back and forth, a slow but steady stream of blood flowed from her helmet's ventilation slits. Resigning himself to death, Varick only prayed that his wouldn't be as agonizing and drawn out as hers._

_He could hear footsteps outside of the trench. As he looked up, Varick could see a man in a blue uniform step up to the lip of the trench above him. Standing proudly, the Gallian swept his gaze across the trench. His eyes stopped on Varick. The Imperial looked up at the Gallian. The Gallian looked back. Unable to move, Varick let out a breath of air. The Gallian raised his weapon. He was going to shoot. Varick was going to die._

_Instead, the Gallian dropped his weapon. Slowly, a red stain spread across the man's chest. Two and a half seconds after being hit, he heard the report of the weapon that had shot him. It was the last thing he heard. Stumbling back, he fell to the ground. Reinforcements. Hope. Once more Varick heard the sound of the rifle. Within a few more seconds, he'd heard it three more times. Looking up, he could see that the tracers had practically disappeared. The Gallians had slowed their fire. Varick had only one chance. He had to run, and he had to do it now. Without bothering to grab his rifle, he hoisted himself out of the trench and began to sprint. _

_He didn't see anyone. Whoever was shooting was well hidden. As he ran, he heard the discharge of the rifle. Varick didn't bother to look back and see if the round hit. He knew that by the time he'd heard the shot its target was already dead. Jumping over a body, he continued his sprint. 100 meters. A round whizzed past his head. He ignored it. 200 meters. Even without combat gear, he'd never run this fast. 300 meters. The incoming fire stopped. He didn't. Neither did the sniper. Varick could still hear the crack of the shooter's rifle, and it was getting closer and closer. 600 meters. Adrenaline kept him moving when he otherwise would have collapsed. 850 meters._

"_Soldier! Over here!"_

_Stopping in his tracks, Varick turned to face the speaker. Laying prone behind a large boulder, the man waved him in behind the cover. He'd never seen the man in his life, but Varick instantly recognized him. He was God._

---

"Gefreiter Hoch, when I asked you to pass me another round, I meant for my 98k, not your Kar 4." Varick looked at the magazine in his hand. It was indeed the last magazine of ammunition for his own rifle, which still lay at the bottom of the trench.

"Oh. Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir." Pulling his hand back, Varick put the magazine back into his ammo belt and pulled out a single round for the man's sniper rifle.

God laughed. "Don't worry about it. Take things slow. Methodical. As a sniper, you can't afford to make mistakes. Being the fastest doesn't make you the best. It makes you a target."

Handing the round over, Varick nodded. Kicking himself for such a stupid mistake he filed the bit of information in his mind. In the past three hours he'd learned more from the sniper than he had in all of Basic Training and Combat Infantry School combined. After meeting up with the man, he'd worked as his makeshift spotter. The man he'd had for the job before had been killed. Varick couldn't do the actual work of a spotter, as he didn't know how to calculate ranges or wind speeds or any of the thousand other factors involved in making a shot, but he had a sharp pair of eyes and he called out whatever targets he saw. Besides, God could work out the calculations himself.

"Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Hoch?"

What could he want to know? "No, sir. Of course not."

"How old are you?"

"I'm eighteen, sir," Varick said.

"Eighteen… Why'd you enlist?"

What do you tell a man like that? For honor? Duty? To serve the glory of the Empire? He settled on the truth. "I was drafted, actually. I never wanted to be a soldier, sir. Just a photographer."

"A photographer?" He chuckled a bit. "You know, I bet you get some good peace of mind taking pictures."

"Some of the best, sir."

The sniper smiled. "You know, I was a draftee myself."

Varick kept his jaw from hitting the ground. The two men weren't wearing their helmets, and he didn't want the sniper to see his surprise. "But you're an officer."

"I wasn't always. That was way back in the first war. If you would have asked me then, I would have laughed in your face if you said I would have a career in the military. I wanted to own a bar."

"A bar?"

"Yeah. You get some good peace of mind serving drinks." Peace of mind. He was fixated on it. For a minute, the two lay in silence. Finally, Varick spoke his mind.

"Leutnant Priller, sir… Why didn't you leave after the First Europan War and open your bar?"

Priller pulled the bolt of his rifle back and slid the single round into the rifle's firing chamber. "I did. It didn't work out. I missed it too much." Pushing the bolt forward, he locked it into place.

"Missed the military?"

"No. Not the military. I've never liked it much, to tell you the truth. Too much pomp and posturing. Bureaucracy. I could go the rest of my life without the military and never regret it."

"Then what did you miss?"

The sniper thought for a moment. "I missed… You know what? Don't worry about it. You'll either understand later or go the rest of your life content being none the wiser." He left it at that as if he'd completely answered the question. "Now, Gefreiter Hoch, focus on the mission at hand. What are we doing here?"

He'd been over it a hundred times already, but as Leutnant Priller had said, repetition was the key to victory. "Yes, sir. Earlier this morning the Gallian Militia broke through the Marberry beachhead using a modified Corsair model First Gallian War tank. With the superior firepower and tactical advantage the vehicle provided, the Gallians were able to break through our lines and capture our forward supply base. As a small unit, we're to insert ourselves into the area, find a firing position, and assassinate their commanding officer. After we take the shot, a small fire team will provide cover for our extraction." Perfect. Almost word for word as the orders were given.

"Good. And where are we now?"

"Sir, in a firing position over the base, sir."

"Gefreiter Hoch, I can make a spotter out of you yet." Varick smiled. "You know, my spotter's dead. Your company was destroyed. When we get back to battalion, what do you think about me switching you over to my unit? I can't make any guarantees, but if everything works out I can teach you all you would need to know." God had saved his life, and now he wanted to be his partner. Varick didn't know what to say. After a moment of silence, the sniper spoke again. "You don't have to. I won't force you if you don't want to, that is."

That snapped the boy back into reality. "Oh! No, sir. That's not what I meant. I would be… honored, sir."

"Good. I'm… glad." Still staring down the scope, the sniper scratched the back of his head. "Alright, I'm starting to see movement down there. You looking through the binoculars?"

Varick pulled his binoculars out of his pouch and brought them up to his face. "I am now, sir."

"Good. First lesson. Target identification." Through the scope, the sniper watched as a small group of soldiers exited one of the buildings and stepped into the base's clearing. "Who's our mark?"

Even 1000 meters away, Varick could clearly see the Gallian solders in the base through the binoculars. One by one, he focused on each of them. A big burly man with a beard and a scarred face. A Darcsen tending to the tank. A brunette with pigtails and a red scarf. A redhead with a choker necklace and her hair done into two buns. None of them looked like their target. "I don't see him, sir."

"Good. He's not in the open yet. Keep an eye out."

"Yes, sir." After another quick sweep of the base, Varick focused the binoculars back onto the Darcsen girl tending the tank. She was… cute. No Liesel, he admitted, but for a Darcsen she had a certain charm about her. For a few seconds he watched as she worked on the vehicle, almost forgetting that it was that very tank that had started the bloodbath he'd survived just hours before. Something about her was… calming. Serene. He felt at ease just watching her. Realizing how creepy that sounded, he moved the binoculars off of her. She'd left his vision, but she stayed in his mind. No. Forget her. Focus on the mission. Leutnant Priller was counting on him. As he moved the binoculars away, a new man caught his sight. He wore an officer's wedge cap, and had a radio headset wrapped around under it. That had to be him. "Leutnant Priller, sir. Target sighted, sir. I think."

"Yeah, that's him. And you called him only 7 seconds after he stepped out. Not bad for a first timer."

"Thank you, sir."

The sniper steadied his breath and channeled all of his focus through the scope of his rifle. For what seemed an eternity, there was only silence. "Varick Hoch," the sniper finally said, "Do you want to be my spotter?"

"Sir? Of course. I've said that already, sir."

Priller turned his head away from the scope in looked the boy in the eyes. The face was back again. The killer's face. "Varick. I'm only going to ask this once. You give me your answer – your honest answer – now, and it's final. You can't take it back from here on out. Do you want to be my spotter?"

What was he talking about? He'd already agreed. Remembering the man's lesson, Varick took his time and thought it over for a second. His answer hadn't changed. "Yes, sir. I do. More than anything."

Nodding, Priller pursed his lips. He was looking at Varick, but his eyes weren't focused. It was almost as if he was looking through the boy. When he finally brought his focus back, he didn't look at Varick as he would another person, but more like he would a mirror. "Give me your binoculars."

Slipping the neck strap around his head, Varick handed the binoculars to the sniper. In return, the sniper handed Varick his rifle. "You're taking the shot."

The ground fell out from under him. "Sir… That's against regulations."

"Don't give me that regulation bullshit. My spotter is dead. It was a 50/50 between him and me. I could just as easily have been the one shot, but I wasn't. He was. I might not be so lucky next time. People die in the field. If I die, you're left alone. I won't let you spot for me unless I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you're just as willing to pull the trigger of that rifle as I am." He raised the binoculars to his eyes. "Don't worry. If you don't connect I'll tell them I missed. You actually score a kill and you've got an officer under your belt."

1000 meters. He'd never even dreamed of making a shot at that distance. Now his future depended on it. That wasn't the only thing bothering him. He'd never killed anyone either. Throughout the entire firefight in the trenches, he'd missed, been beaten to the punch, or been thrown around every time he'd tried. Now nobody could beat him to the punch. Nobody could throw him around. Varick was invincible here. He was God now. "Sir, I'm not qualified with this weapon."

"You went through weapons familiarization in CIS, right?"

"Well, yes sir, but…"

"You've already agreed. You can't back out now." The sniper didn't even drop the binoculars. "Now, kill him."

The man had saved his life. He could kill an enemy officer for that. It made things slightly easier that the officer had indirectly been responsible for the deaths of his friends. Of Seifer. Of Liesel. Of Mendel. "Yes, sir."

Bringing his eye to the scope, Varick put the officer in his crosshair. He was walking. Wouldn't be for long. Following the walking man, Varick began to draw back on the trigger. Mentally, he recited the lessons Priller had taught him. Steady your rifle. Steady your breath. Use only the tip of your finger. The rifle is not a gun. It's your arm. Draw back slowly. Steadily. Be consistent with your pull. Never jerk. Never stop. Wait. Stop!

Through the scope, he watched as the officer dropped out of sight behind the tank. He'd missed his opportunity. Failed.

A reassuring voice sounded off next to him. "Don't worry, Hoch. He can't hide behind that tank forever. Watch the edges. He'll peek out sometime." That calmed his nerves. "Keep watching the target, I've got my eyes on the counter snipers."

"Wait," Varick said. "Counter snipers?"

"You didn't think they'd set up camp without precautions, did you? Snipers have to learn to identify any enemy counter snipers or possible sniper nests. They've got a sniper at the right third floor window of the first building on the right, a team in the bunker outside of the base, and a designated marksman on the roof on the left. We should be out of her range, but anyone with a scope should be watched carefully. Remember that."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't look for them now, though. That's the spotter's job. Keep your eye on the target."

A minute passed. Then three more. Then five after that. The officer was spending an awful long time behind that tank. "Sir, how long do we wait?"

"As long as we need to."

As it turned out, it wouldn't be long. Within two minutes, the radio squawked. "Malya the Dust, this is Eagle 2-1 – Message for you, stand by to copy."

Leutnant Priller lifted the small radio's handset. "Eagle 2-1 this is Malya the Dust – Standing by to copy."

"Malya—Message follows: Gallian Army is pushing through the Eastern beachhead. That cuts off your extraction. Exfiltrate immediately, how copy?"

The sniper sighed. "Good copy, Eagle 2-1. Interrogative: We haven't fired yet. Are we to return to base without attempting to take down the target?"

"That's affirm. If you can't get a shot off in the next minute, abort mission. Out."

Varick let out a breath of air. He wouldn't have to take the shot. Lifting his head, he began to pack the rifle. "What are you doing?" The sniper was looking straight into him.

"Sir, preparing for extraction, sir."

"No you're not. We came to score a kill. We're scoring a kill."

"But sir, the officer isn't coming out from behind that tank, and if we don't leave now we won't be able to…"

"No. Set the rifle down and aim." Once more, the sniper scanned the area with Varick's binoculars. "Our mission was to kill that officer because he commands that tank. As I interpret our orders, we're to stop the tank, not the officer himself. We can still do that. Shoot the tank pilot."

"Who?" He hadn't seen a pilot.

"That girl. The Darcsen at the base of the tank. She's the pilot. Kill her."

The cute one. "Sir… How do you know she's the pilot?"

"The patches on her uniform. One of them signifies she's a tank operator. As she's fixing up that tank, we can assume it's hers."

Moving the crosshair, he set it onto the girl. This time, he didn't feel peace. He felt fear. "Sir, our orders are to…"

"Our orders are to win the war. That tank nearly single handedly won this battle. It'll win more tomorrow if we let it. The tank is old – A First Gallian War Corsair—but it's been modified. Heavily. With so much done to that thing, she's likely the only one who's able to operate it with any effect. If we kill her it'll be days before they can advance with it."

"But she's…"

"What? She's young? She's cute? She's an enemy combatant in a combat zone. Quit trying to talk your way out of this and take the shot. I'm right. I know it, you know it; don't argue with me."

Varick did know it. Of course the sniper was right. How could God be wrong? Slowly, he put the girl in his scope. "Aim for her head, Hoch. Don't make this any more painful for her than it has to be."

The head. She was still kneeling in front of the tank. Forgetting about the vehicle, Varick put the center of her head in the crosshair. He tried to ignore the thoughts he'd had before. Repeat the lessons instead. Repetition is the key to victory. Steady your rifle. _I can't kill her._ Steady your breath. Use only the tip of your finger. _I can't kill her._ The rifle is not a gun. It's your arm. Draw back slowly. Steadily. _I don't want to._ Be consistent with your pull. Never jerk. _I can't._ Never stop. You are death. Death doesn't feel. _I do._ Doesn't hesitate. Never hesitate. Fire. _Stop!_

With a jerk, Varick pulled the rifle's trigger. It resisted. For a second time the boy pulled, and once again, the trigger didn't give. "You forgot the safety, Gefreiter."

Such a rookie mistake. "Y-Yes, sir. I… I'm s-sorry sir… It won't happen again. Sir."

"Varick. Put the rifle down and look at me." The boy looked over to the sniper. Once again, he stared into the killer's face. This time he felt neither fear nor awe. Instead, he felt… peace of mind. The same peace of mind he'd gotten from the girl at the tank moments before. "Remember what I told you before? About knowing your target? Feeling it? I laughed, but I meant every word of it. You're thinking. Don't do that. Don't try to understand or rationalize this. You'll regret it later. Empty your mind. Become your mark. Then fire."

Varick didn't respond. Instead, he rested his cheek on the butt of his rifle and aimed down the scope. With a flick of his finger, he turned off the weapon's safety. The officer was still out of sight. The target would be the girl. She was standing now. Talking to the red head. What about? Didn't matter. Repeat the lessons. Repetition is the key to victory. There is only one lesson. Don't think. He placed the crosshair over the center of her head.

She was smiling now. Something the red head had said. Or done. Varick didn't care which. All he cared about was the feeling. Joy. The joy of being with a comrade. No, a friend. He thought about his friends. Seifer, telling a funny joke. Liesel and her beautiful blue eyes. The way they would have lit up when he gave her the gift he'd made her for the Gallian holiday. Mendel. Nothing needed to be said there. The very thought of his best friend sent a wave of happiness through him. They were connected now. The scope was his lens, and through it he felt the girl's… no… the target's joy. They were one. It was the closest and most intimate experience he'd had in his life. This was it. This was what the sniper had missed. The red head extended her hand to the target. A wide smile blossomed on her face. He felt it. He felt her joy. He felt nothing.

The rifle jumped, and just over one and a quarter second later Varick watched as the bullet slammed through his target's chest.

Chest. How? He'd botched it.

"Well… You hit," Priller said next to him. He took the binoculars away from his eyes. "At this distance you have to watch out for bullet drop. You can't just put the crosshair on your target and expect it to score."

"I'm… sorry sir."

"Don't be. I should have told you." Once more, he looked through the binoculars.

He'd hit. Not exactly where he'd wanted to, but he'd hit. At 1000 meters. As his feelings returned, he struggled to figure out which one came first. He was only half surprised to find that it was pride. "Is… Is she…?"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's a good kill. It was sloppy, but she's on her way out. They'd need a surgeon to fix that one."

He couldn't help but smile a little. His first kill. He'd always wondered what it would feel like. It was surprisingly… unremarkable.

"Well, there's our officer," the sniper said.

Looking back through the scope, Varick centered it on the Gallian. "Reload and take him out?"

"No." Priller began to pack his equipment. "Their snipers will be looking out for us. Fire another shot and they'll have us dead before you can chamber another round." He began to slide back away from the firing point. "Besides. As far as I'm concerned the mission's accomplished. We don't want to kill any more than we have to."

"Sir?"

"We're soldiers, not murderers. We're given a job and we do it. It's just that. A job. Remember: Feel nothing. Take no pleasure, but feel no shame." The boy just stared. "You'll understand later. Don't worry, I'll teach you. You're mine now."

His. "Yes, sir." Varick tried to empty himself, but his pride lingered. "Sir, do you mind if I ask _you _a personal question?"

"No. Of course not."

"Do you remember your first kill?"

Priller closed his eyes. "Yes. And that's all you need to know."

"Yes, sir… Thank you, sir."

The sniper opened his eyes again. "Listen. You just saved a lot of lives today. Stopping that tank could have changed the course of our retreat. If you remember anything from this day, remember that." Nodding as if he'd been speaking to himself, Leutnant Priller continued down the slope. Varick watched him slide away. Turning back to his equipment, he gathered his stuff and picked up the rifle. It was his today – he'd earned the right to carry it. With his naked eyes he looked back at the base. He'd never know how many lives he'd saved that day, but he would always remember how many he'd taken. Without the scope, he couldn't tell what was going on. That was all right. He didn't need to know. Varick could feel it from there. Peace of mind. Smiling slightly, he sidled down the path and followed after his new mentor.


End file.
